Chapter 82: Defection! The Entire City Prepares for Battle! Admirers Who Face Their Hearts

“Ah!”

“Ah!”

Inside the prison of Jinyang, Song Jianfeng was stripped of his clothes, hung up, and flogged until his flesh was torn open. Only then was he dragged away, left for an hour, and then seized again for another round of whipping.

Through each brutal beating, Song Jianfeng couldn't understand why only he was singled out for punishment. Even though many cells closer to the torture rack were occupied, Chu Bo seemed completely untouched.

Finally, when he was beaten to the verge of death, Song Jianfeng, in a daze, heard the jailer whipping him say to another, “He’s fainted.” Only then did he breathe a sigh of relief.

Not wishing to endure any more pain, Song Jianfeng feigned unconsciousness.

Yet, in his haze, he seemed to catch fragments of conversation, indistinct and drifting.

“Fortunately, Brother Chu warned us in secret this time…”

“Rest assured, Brother Chu. As long as we can weaken Wei Dagger… Once the old General Yang retakes the northern frontier… the prefect…”

Song Jianfeng panted quietly, unable to believe what he was hearing. But the voices were unmistakable—the one he recognized from the city gate, belonging to an officer, and another, faint yet familiar, that seemed to be Chu Bo.

Impossible! It couldn’t be Chu Bo! Never!

He couldn’t believe Chu Bo would betray Lord Wei. Yet, with the sudden assignment of that valiant officer to Jinyang, the urgent repairs to the city defenses, and the digging of the moat upon arrival, he couldn’t help but recall the sequence of events.

Not long after, a jailer returned, carrying a bucket of water, and doused him. The icy chill forced Song Jianfeng to break his act.

True cold is not a bucket of water poured over the body—that heat makes the skin burn. The true shiver comes from a single ladleful, soaking only part of the body still warm.

The jailer, seeing Song Jianfeng awake, resumed the beating without hesitation, flogging him until he collapsed, hoarse and exhausted. Only then was he dragged away once again.

As he passed Chu Bo’s cell, Song Jianfeng, pale as a ghost, struggled to glance at Chu Bo. Seeing him bound, his mouth gagged, Song Jianfeng felt a faint sense of relief.

Though resentment simmered within him…

Suddenly, Song Jianfeng noticed that beside the bound Chu Bo, on the other side of a wooden table, it appeared someone had just been sitting there.

Before he could think further, the jailers dragged him off.

Moments later, Chu Bo’s cell door creaked open. Fu Zihou entered with Xia Jia, gazing at the gagged Chu Bo. Fu Zihou did not remove the gag, but brought in a bowl with half a chicken remaining.

“Tell me, should we give Song Jianfeng another round of beating and then walk past his cell with this chicken, letting the jailers complain about their luck? Or should I leave this here with you, drug you unconscious, and at night give Song Jianfeng a chance to slip out and see you sleeping here?”

Fu Zihou sat cross-legged by the wooden table, indifferent to the stench and dust.

“That Song Jianfeng has never been tight-lipped—he’s said plenty under drink and lust. The nobles in the city have made it clear: Song Jianfeng is kin to that bandit Song Jingang, just as you have your family. Imagine: if I have Song Jianfeng’s tongue cut out, his fingers chopped off, if he’s thrown into the river and survives, what fate do you think awaits your wife, your father, your ailing mother, and your children?”

Fu Zihou spoke with a smile, his eyes on Chu Bo, as if the thought of such scenes filled him with delight and anticipation.

“I hear you are a devoted son. When your mother was gravely ill, you never left her side. As a child, your father, for your sake, knelt for five days before the sons of Sui officials whom you’d offended…”

Having recited what he’d learned, Fu Zihou waited until Chu Bo no longer struggled or glared, and then signaled Xia Jia to untie him.

“You know Song Jianfeng’s character better than I. He cannot withstand hardship and already harbors resentment. These methods are enough to make him do what I desire.”

Fu Zihou watched Chu Bo, reminding him once more not to resist in vain.

“What do you want me to do?”

Chu Bo faced Fu Zihou. As a clever man, he understood that with so many schemes prepared, Fu Zihou meant to win him over.

“Eat some chicken, regain your strength. In a moment, I want you to cut off Song Jianfeng’s hands and feet for me.”

Fu Zihou answered bluntly.

Chu Bo’s face changed at his words, horror in his eyes. He understood—there would be no turning back.

“Aren’t you afraid that if I ever get out of here, I’ll tell Lord Wei everything? He’ll believe me!”

Chu Bo challenged Fu Zihou.

Fu Zihou shook his head.

“It doesn’t matter whether Lord Wei believes you. As long as Song Jianfeng lives, the outcome is the same! You are Lord Wei’s strategist, not kin to Song Jingang.”

Fu Zihou sneered. At this moment, Chu Bo had only two choices: either cut off Song Jianfeng’s limbs himself, or watch as Fu Zihou tortured Song Jianfeng into a wretched state and then “accidentally” released him.

“I alone am useless—the army outside the city is over a hundred thousand strong. Even if I act as your agent within, it cannot change the outcome!”

Chu Bo gasped, glancing in dread at Fu Zihou, hoping to make him see reason.

But under Chu Bo’s angry glare, and Xia Jia’s watchful eyes, Fu Zihou fell silent for a moment.

“What if, one day, I decide to fight my way out?”

Fu Zihou looked at Chu Bo.

“Impossible! Even if you conscripted every man in the east city, you could not match the besieging army!”

Chu Bo stared at him as if at a madman. But looking at Fu Zihou’s youthful face, his eyes, and recalling his recent actions, a chill crept up his spine, goosebumps rising.

“There will come a day when the chance arrives. You are clever—when that day comes, you’ll know.”

Fu Zihou gazed at Chu Bo. With the rebel army at the gates, Chu Bo, as Wei Dagger’s adviser, was of little value—either as a hostage or as a victim of vengeance. But if he could be turned into an agent, he could play an unexpected role when the moment to decide victory came.

Fu Zihou valued Chu Bo’s intelligence and judgment of the situation. Otherwise, he would never have expended so much effort, even finding someone with a voice similar to Chu Bo’s.

“Don’t worry. If the city falls, you and I can kill Song Jianfeng ourselves. And if I am defeated, I’ll rely on you to say a few good words and save my life.”

Fu Zihou rose slowly, voicing Chu Bo’s final concern and trying to put his mind at ease.

“Shall we walk as you eat?”

Fu Zihou smiled, suggesting to Chu Bo.

Chu Bo breathed rapidly, looking at the youth before him. Lately, everyone had mocked this boy as a “mouse-officer,” but he had never underestimated him. Now he realized he had still misjudged the youth’s boldness and cunning.

After a moment, under the watchful eyes of Fu Zihou and Xia Jia, Chu Bo picked up the half chicken from the bowl, ate, and rose to his feet.

Song Jianfeng lay in his cell, wracked with pain. Hearing the commotion, he turned his head, terror filling his eyes as he saw Fu Zihou and Xia Jia, and then Chu Bo with a grim face, eating meat and carrying a sword as he entered.

A moment later.

Under the watchful eyes of Fu Zihou and Xia Jia, Chu Bo steeled himself and raised the sword.

A terrible wail echoed through the prison.

…

Within the east city.

Under conscription, and with the respected elders of each noble family spreading the word, every citizen knew of the atrocities committed by the rebels outside the city: plundering, murdering, slaughtering all in their path; women defiled and slain, children taken as provisions.

At the city gate, all males from twelve to sixty were registered.

The able-bodied were issued weapons and armor. The elderly were tasked with making arrows and repairing defensive equipment. Children strong enough would carry supplies through the tunnels to the defenders during battle.

Every household and tool was registered. With such propaganda, the people volunteered eagerly to support the city’s defense.

Such scenes ignited the blood of the defending soldiers. Facing nearly a hundred thousand rebels outside, they no longer felt fear. Even the nobles, once coerced into participating, now found themselves genuinely inspired and began to spread the word with zeal.

“I really can’t go back now!”

Atop the city walls, gazing at the endless sea of rebels and towering siege engines in the distance, Cui Wenjin was truly in despair.

She thought of her brother, her father, her mother, and her sister. Unable to imagine what they would think if they couldn’t find her.

With a sigh, she wondered how she could have ended up trapped in Jinyang, simply by sneaking away for a brief visit.

After a long while, she came to her senses and looked around the bustling city wall. Everywhere, soldiers were busy building high platforms, and countless warriors conversed, not a trace of fear on their faces despite the enemy massed on the plains behind them.

She watched children and women carrying arrows. Though she had only been in Jinyang a few days, compared to before, the transformation was astonishing. Had she not seen it with her own eyes, she would not have believed such a change possible.

Cui Wenjin knew the cause of all this was that youth.

She looked at the city’s people—children, women, the elderly, the busy soldiers—none showed fear as they prepared to face the rebels.

All because of that young man; all believed in him.

As his image surfaced in her mind, Cui Wenjin’s heart began to race, just as it had in Qinghe County when that youth took command in a crisis and saved the county. Witnessing the scene before her, in her eyes, he was nothing short of a hero.

Only now could she finally face the questions her brother had once asked her in Jiji County.

Yes!

She was moved by this youth!

In her eyes, this young man named Fu Zihou was a hero!

A rare hero in all the world!